


How to Be Alone

by the_day_that_was



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Set During Canon, but do they recognize it as pining?, catra and adora process their feelings as well as you would expect, on god get them some hugs and therapy, which is not very well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28533660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_day_that_was/pseuds/the_day_that_was
Summary: Catra never wanted Adora as an enemy. Adora left her, promises were broken, and she knew that no matter what happened, she would make Adora regret that decision. She would not allow herself to feel weak or useless ever again.Adora never wanted Catra as an enemy. She was a hero, and sometimes, heroes had to make sacrifices for the greater good. Even if that meant burying everything that she had felt, still felt, for her childhood best friend. Even if it put them on opposite ends of the battlefield.(A series of one shots exploring the internal dialogue of Catra and Adora following pivotal moments in their relationship throughout the show. Enjoy!)
Relationships: Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Kudos: 12





	1. Promises

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there- in case you were wondering, the title is from the song "How to Be Alone" by John-Allison Weiss, listed on Noelle Stevenson's "Catra" Spotify playlist! If you haven't listened to her character playlists, I would highly recommend them. 10/10 tumultuous listening experience.

When Catra had left the Horde earlier that morning in search of First One’s tech, she had not expected the emotional reckoning she found herself face to face with now as she trekked through the Whispering Woods, utterly, painfully, and _noticeably_ alone. She had not expected to leave her best friend (no, not her best friend… her betrayer? Her enemy? Her… something else entirely?) hanging on desperately to the edge of an ancient, simulated cliff. Even if she could have predicted _that_ surprising turn of events, she certainly would not have predicted the decision she had made in those last few moments she had shared with Adora. No, there was no way she could have predicted herself cutting those ties which had bound Adora to the cliff, and her to Catra by extension. She could not have predicted that she would leave the First One’s temple somehow more alone than she had entered it. Adora was really, truly gone from her life. She may be dead, for all Catra knows. 

She wonders why that thought doesn’t scare her.

She knows that this morning, it would have rendered her speechless, breathless even.

She supposes that a lot has changed since this morning.

After all, just this morning, she had been thoroughly convinced that Adora was going to rejoin the Horde. This whole “hero” bit just had to be a phase, one that Adora would snap out of as soon as she remembered who she was, and what she wanted. She and Catra were going to conquer Etheria, just like they always planned. She would remember their goals. She would remember _her_. Of course, Catra was absolutely livid with Adora. She had planned on giving her a hard time about this whole “abandonment” thing for weeks once she was back in the barracks, in their bunk where she belonged. Everything would go back to how it was, though. Eventually.

Now, Catra wasn’t so sure. Scratch that. She was certain, dead certain, that things would never go back to how they had been before Adora had found the sword.

Adora had left her, really left her, and it seems clear to her now more than ever that she never had any intention of returning. She had thrown her life away, _their_ life away, because of a fucking sword and some naive, godforsaken desire to do good for this world. She trusted a princess she had known for less than a month more than she trusted Catra. She was willing to leave the Horde for the Rebellion. She had never been willing to leave the Horde for her.

Looking back at what had happened that day in Thaymor sends a pang of hurt through her chest. Had Adora really never seen what the Horde was capable of? Of course, having never left the Fright Zone, it was conceivable that she didn’t know about the Horde’s less-than-diplomatic policies in regards to conquering civilian villages. Still, she had no excuse for not knowing that the Horde was evil. It was impossible that she hadn’t noticed how Shadow Weaver treated Catra. There was no way she hadn’t heard her constant stream of derisive comments towards her. Adora couldn’t have missed the way she visibly tensed whenever Shadow Weaver entered a room. Then again... is it possible that she had?

She doesn’t know which thought hurts more: the idea that she had somehow missed Catra’s torment, or the possibility that she _had_ seen it, and ignored it all the same. 

She can’t push the thought from her mind that maybe, just maybe, Adora had missed all of it. She could be painfully oblivious sometimes. She can’t force the idea from her brain that if Adora had found out the true extent of Shadow Weaver’s treatment of her, she would have done something about it. She might have confronted Shadow Weaver, and they might have run away, forsaking the Horde, taking with them as they ran the only piece of it that had ever really mattered to either of them- each other.

_No._

She can’t get caught up in those same old cycles of wishful thinking that have plagued her for years, even before Adora had abandoned her. As it stands, Adora left her. They had made a promise to each other that they would look out for one another, and Adora had broken that promise. Whether or not she had broken that promise before, whether or not she had been breaking it for the entirety of their childhood, was irrelevant. Adora left her, she wasn’t coming back, and nothing would ever be as it was. Besides, she didn’t need Adora to save her. She could take care of herself. She always has. Adora has always had a hero complex, but she never seemed to use it when it really mattered. No. She didn’t need Adora, or anybody else, protecting her. The last thing she wants is their pity. If she needs their pity, Shadow Weaver had been right all along- she really was worthless. 

She needs to let go. She already _had_ let go, when she had watched Adora fall into that digital abyss. If Adora was dead, it was for the best.

(Maybe if she said that to herself often enough, she would start to actually believe it.)

In one capacity or another, Adora was gone. She was gone, and that meant that definitively, there was an open spot in the force captain ranks that needed to be filled. Yes, Catra may have held the title for weeks now, but the whole time she had known that Shadow Weaver had been loath to give it to her. _Adora_ was the one she had wanted to wear the badge. She had been grooming her to take it for as long as either of them could remember. Well, Adora left them both, and now Catra- weak, insufferable, worthless _Catra_ \- was the one who was going to pick up the pieces of the shattered order she left behind in her wake. She was going to show Shadow Weaver how strong she could be. She was going to make all of them, from Kyle to Lord Hordak himself, regret ever having underestimated her. Catra was going to conquer Etheria, and anyone who dared to question that incontestable truth was going to pay. She was going to show Adora how wrong she was to leave her behind. 

_Adora._

Catra can feel her knees hit the ground long before she registers that she has fallen. Because, of course, Adora left her. Nothing else really matters. She is oscillating rapidly between all-encompassing rage and crippling grief, and everything feels like entirely too much. Her head is all at once empty and full, and if she doesn’t do something, anything at all, to alleviate this pain, her brain may just burst.

She closes her eyes tight and tries to stop the world around her from spinning. If she can’t see it, maybe it will all go away. Maybe when she opens them, everything will be different, and-

She screams, but the sound that comes out of her mouth is more sob than shriek. She unsheathes her claws, turns towards the nearest tree along the forest path, and gouges them deep into its bark. She repeats this action again. Again. Soon, the background noise of her thoughts begins to die down, replaced only by the slashing of her claws against tree bark. The whole world is purple wood chips and vaguely stinging finger beds, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Her vision is blurry. It's probably from the tears she can feel streaming down her face, though she doesn’t remember ever having started to cry. At least this makes sense. Nothing that had happened before this made any sense at all.

With an exhausted exhale, Catra turns her back to the tree and slides down it, collapsing on the soft floor of the forest below her. She feels too sore to move, too sore to think. Good. She doesn’t want to think. She rests her head against the trunk of the destroyed tree, ignoring the splinters she can feel itching against the back of her uniform. The treetops above her obscure the sky, and it becomes easy to imagine that nothing exists beyond the confines of this forest, and that no time exists, either, beyond this moment of blissful numbness. She clutches her knees to her chest. She would be satisfied with never feeling anything ever again. Feelings had never gotten her anywhere. They had never gotten her anything other than pain. Sooner or later, they always betrayed her. 

When Catra finally rises to her feet, her head is clear. She _will_ return to the Horde, and she _will_ be the one to lead them in their conquest of Etheria. For spite, for her pride, just for the sake of doing it. She wants it more than anything in the world, and fuck all if she isn’t going to get exactly what she wants, just this once.

_(now, maybe if she says that to herself often enough, she will actually start to believe it...)_

* * *

Adora stands on the balcony of her room at Brightmoon, the events of the past several days ringing fresh through her mind. Everything had happened so quickly since she left the castle yesterday (it felt like a million years ago, really) to learn the power of healing from Lighthope. A virtual dreamscape, robotic spiders, a sky-beam, a talking horse, and a full-scale Horde invasion of Brightmoon had never been a part of her plan. Truth be told, she hadn’t known all of those things had existed before… well, before a few hours ago. Her memories are hazy, blurring together in strange combinations of fact and falsehood. If she’s being honest, she doesn’t really want to remember what has happened. She needs to face facts though. For the rebellion.

She grips the stone railing of the balcony until her knuckles turn white. Clarity is a bitch. After all, if she looks back on everything that has happened lately, _really_ looks back on it, she can see just how Catra had woven herself through all of it, as unshakable as the dread beginning to take root in the base of Adora’s chest.

Catra. Catra, Catra, _Catra_. No matter where in her head she turned, there Catra was. Watching as Adora fell to her death from a cliff in the First One’s temple. Unsheathing her claws, and gouging them deep into her back as they fought at the battle of Brightmoon. Walking towards her, triumph glinting in her eyes, as Adora’s vision flickered in and out of consciousness. She would be lying if she said those memories didn’t hurt her more than her actual battle wounds (hell, she was still sore, but somehow, these aches managed to be worse). In each of those moments, Adora had felt helpless. Not because she was afraid of Catra. No, it was because in spite of it all, she wasn’t.

She knows that she should hate Catra.

_Why doesn’t she hate Catra?_

She was She-Ra, after all, and Etheria needed her protection. It was her duty to bring balance back to her world, to push back the conquests of the Horde for the sake of all of Etheria’s people. The Horde was evil, and it fell to her to undo the damage they had done to her planet. The damage that _she_ had done. No matter how often Glimmer and Bow had assured her that all from her past was forgiven, Adora could never fully bring herself to believe it. They were her best friends in the world, and she _knows_ that they trust her, but… she doesn’t know. Maybe she just doesn’t trust herself. The only way she can fully fix her mistakes, and finally make up for all of those years of blind faith to the Horde, is by using She-Ra to defeat it. She needs to right all those wrongs she perpetrated, knowingly or otherwise. The sword, She-Ra, it was how she could atone. And she needed to, more than anything.

Well... now it seems like Catra _is_ the Horde. If she needs to defeat the Horde, for Etheria, for her friends, for this new family she had just found, Catra can’t be a part of that picture. Well, actually, she was central to it, just not in the way Adora had always hoped that she would be. She was certainly not standing by her side. She would stand opposed, claws drawn against her, frantically slashing away her attempts to right their mutual wrongs. She knows this. She knows this! Why, then, does the thought of having Catra as an enemy make her skin crawl?

Nothing about this is right. Nothing about this makes any sense. All her life, she and Catra had been a team. It had seemed like nothing truly bad could happen to either of them as long as they stuck together. Life in the Horde was never easy, but it was tolerable as long as they had each other. As long as they could escape to the rooftops for a moment alone together, and as long as Catra could curl up at the bottom of their bunk after a long day, warming her feet as their breath fell into synch- as long as they had that- everything was alright. She would even say that she was happy. No, she had definitely been happy. She probably would have stayed happy, too, if she had never found the sword, and along with it, the true nature of the Horde. 

Those memories just don’t sit right with her now. There’s something traitorous about looking back on her childhood home with anything other than contempt. She pries her hands off of the balcony railing. She lets go. Light Hope had said that she needed to let go, time and time again, back in the Crystal Castle. Adora still isn’t entirely sure what she had meant. Let go of her guilt? No, she needed that. That ever-present guilt drives her, allowing her to push her limits as far as they will possibly stretch to protect her friends. Light Hope certainly couldn’t have meant that she needed to let go of her friends. Then again, maybe she had meant exactly that. Maybe, just maybe, she had to let go of Catra. That made more sense than anything else. Etheria could never be balanced if its hero was still clinging desperately to her childhood best friend. Her rival? Enemy? She lets out a huff of air in frustration. Nothing made sense anymore.

Maybe it wasn’t as easy as letting go of Catra. She wasn’t sure if she could ever do that, not really. For now, locking her behind a wall in her mind, a wall constructed of anger and righteous, broken logic, would have to be good enough. The next time she saw Catra, she would be nothing more, and nothing less, than her enemy. She could live with that. And if there were other feelings locked behind that wall right alongside her? That was just the price Adora would have to pay. After all, part of being a hero was being willing to sacrifice.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! As an avid follower of the AO3 Catra/Adora tag, I decided it was probably high time that I contributed to it myself! A few months back, I decided to start writing character studies of Catra and Adora, specifically from points throughout the show that I felt were especially important or pivotal to their developing relationship. This chapter takes place after Promises (Catra's POV) and the Season 1 finale (Adora's POV). Really, I just wanted to put myself inside their heads during highly emotional off-screen moments. If we had seen the fallout of their respective decisions, what might that have looked like? Well, see above for my take on it! Anyway, I am not entirely sure if I'm going to continue this as a series, but it's definitely a thought I'm having. Either way, this could be read as a standalone one shot. Hope you enjoyed it!


	2. The Price of Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello! Just for some quick pre-chapter context, this chapter takes place during the events of Season 3 Episode 1. Enjoy :))

Catra wanted to scream. She wanted to claw at the cold walls that surrounded her, sob until she couldn’t breathe, and let her tears run their course down her face and neck, leaving salty, irritated trails in their wake. She wanted to curl into a ball and disappear, and she wanted to be so loud and undeniably real that not a single person could ignore her existence.

She could almost laugh at the paradoxical ramblings of her panicked mind. That was the problem, wasn’t it? As much as she wanted to disappear, she wanted to be seen. She wanted to be loved, appreciated, and trusted. Where had that landed her? In a cell. 

Catra should have known that nothing Shadow Weaver had said would be genuine. She should have known better, because she was dealing with  _ Shadow Weaver _ . This was the woman who had raised her in a web of manipulations so thick and convoluted that she could hardly discern which of her thoughts were her own and which had been ingrained into her sense of self through years of endless verbal torment. Yes, she should have known better than to assume that after a lifetime of being told she was worthless, Shadow Weaver would suddenly deem her worthy of affection and trust. Emphasis on  _ should have _ .

Obviously, Shadow Weaver’s programming had not stuck, because if only she had remembered that she was entirely unworthy of what the woman had seemed to promise her just days ago on the floor of this very cell, she would never have let her guard down. The irony was too much for Catra. Shadow Weaver’s own failure to break her had played to the woman’s advantage, this time, allowing her to escape. She didn’t know whether her former care-taker would be pleased or disgusted by her actions. Probably both. After all, she had proven that she was worth just as little as Shadow Weaver had thought, and now the whole Fright Zone knew it too. Her old squad members. Hordak. Everyone. She let out a low laugh in the silence of her standard-issue Fright Zone cell. She had been so starved for the approval of a fallen woman that she allowed herself no other option than to fall herself.

And what a fall it had been! It seemed like just yesterday she had felt the sheer euphoria of knocking Shadow Weaver down in combat, and in turn, from her place as Hordak’s second in command. She had led the assault on Bright Moon, claiming more ground for the Horde in their struggle against the Rebellion than any leader in their history, including Shadow Weaver or Hordak himself. She had crippled the Whispering Woods. She had, momentarily, incapacited She-Ra. She may have lost the battle that day, but she had turned the tides of the war in the Horde’s favor. Hordak had promoted her to his second in command. Shadow Weaver’s position was hers. She was appreciated, trusted, respected,  _ feared _ .

For a moment.

From the floor of her cell, it’s easy to see just how quickly it had all begun to fall apart. Almost immediately, she had been bogged down by paperwork. It was hard to strategize bigger moves and power plays against the Rebellion when she could hardly manage to navigate Horde bureaucracy to supply basic armor and supplies to her squadrons. Not to mention, Hordak never  _ really _ trusted her. She was never an equal, only ever an underling. Entrapta hadn’t made anything easier for her. Traipsing around his sanctum, aiding in his experiments, earning his full attention, and his ear- Entrapta had gotten everything that should have been Catra’s. If that princess had listened to her when she told her to steer clear of Hordak… well, maybe things would have turned out differently. Hordak would have seen how much he needed Catra, at least. He would have seen that she was the person, the  _ only _ person, who could lead the Horde to victory.

And then, of course, there was the problem of Adora.

Every play that Catra made against the Rebellion, Adora had managed to thwart. Catra froze the Whispering Woods, allowing free Horde passage through it for the first time in history? Adora and her little gang of princesses restored it. Catra claimed a fortress in the name of the Horde? Adora liberated it. Catra led an expedition to the North to search for First Ones tech? Somehow, Adora still managed to interfere.

Needless to say, Catra had been getting very sick of Adora’s “power of friendship” schtick.

If it hadn’t been for Adora- no, if it hadn’t been for  _ She-Ra _ \- Catra had no doubt she would have proven herself invaluable to Hordak. Shadow Weaver had only had to deal with her for a month, during the tail end of her long, and ineffective, reign as second-in-command. By comparison, Catra had been dealing with the nuisance of the sword-wielding warrior princess for her entire career. She could scream at the injustice of all of it. She could have been so much more! Now, nobody would ever know. 

And wasn’t that  _ just _ like Adora? Ever since she could remember, she had been overshadowed by the blonde. No matter how hard she trained, Adora could always somehow train harder, with better results than Catra could dream of. It didn’t even matter that the scales were tipped against her in the first place. No matter how hard Catra worked, Shadow Weaver only had eyes for  _ her _ , that much had been obvious. After so many years of being second best, least loved, and most admonished, she had come to the realization that it was infinitely better to convince those around her that she didn’t care than come to terms with the reality that she cared, she cared  _ so much _ , and was still unable to surpass her best friend.

Adora leaving her… Adora leaving the Horde... 

It had been the best thing that had ever happened to her.

Finally! She could show her superiors how competent she was. She could climb the ranks, unhindered. She had even allowed herself to outwardly care again.

It was no wonder that even turned traitor, Adora could still manage to steal away Catra’s victories and undermine her successes. It was maddening. Whenever she failed, it seemed she could always find Shadow Weaver or Adora as common ground at the root of her troubles.

She laughs lowly to herself. It’s ironic, truly! Because even if she should hate Shadow Weaver, hate  _ Adora _ , with every fiber of her being, she still can’t. When Shadow Weaver had asked for her sorcerer’s badge, caressed her face, stroked the tufts of her fur, assured her that together, they could find a way to earn Hordak’s full trust… she had caved, immediately. Bile rises in her throat. She can still feel the soft touch of the sorceress’ skin on her own. She remembers how she leaned into her touch, desperate for whatever contact, whatever reassurance, whatever  _ love _ the woman could give her. After all, she had been seeking it out for all of her life, whatever was the reason for her to stop with that hopeless, fruitless venture now?

And Adora. Adora! She could tear the wall to shreds now just thinking about her, had her handcuffs not hindered her range of motion so severely. And it’s not just because her rival had been such a nuisance, no, that would make far too much sense. In spite of everything the blonde had done to her- culminating in her fall from grace and subsequent imprisonment- she still can’t stifle the hopelessness she feels whenever she remembers the day Adora left her. In spite of all of it, she wants Adora back. She wants everything to go back to the way it had been before. She would gladly be second best every day for the rest of her miserable life if it meant that this pit in her chest, this horrible, euphoric ache, would leave her. When she thinks of Adora, she burns. The memories are both her wound and her remedy. As ridiculous as she knows it to be, she would gladly let Adora drive the red-hot knife of their past deeper into her chest each time she saw her if only she could still cling to them. 

(not that she would tell anyone, least of all Adora, how much she still meant to her.)

She hadn’t been able to let go of Shadow Weaver, and her moment of weakness allowed the sorceress to escape. Adora meant too much to her for Catra to ever really hurt her- as many times as she had gouged She-Ra, she had never put any effort into hurting the woman behind the sword. All it had taken were two glaring weaknesses to bring about her downfall. Well, at least she has plenty of time alone in this god forsaken cell to think about her mistakes.

Almost as if she had manifested it (truly, the universe ensured that nothing could ever go her way, didn’t it?) the footsteps of two guards approach her cell, echoing against the curved walls of the Horde prison block. Beneath the adrenaline spiking in her system, she vaguely wonders if the cylindrical design of the prison was purposeful. After all, the sound of the heavy boots reverberating through the building can be heard, loud and clear, before she could ever hope to see the glint of the guards’ visors. It’s terrifying. At least she has time to school her face into a mask of indifference before they arrive.

She knows that they’re here to bring her to Hordak for judgement. She’s a traitor, after all. The best she can hope for is a quick execution- at worst, she can expect to be on a transport to Beast Island within the hour. She hopes that Scorpia and Entrapta won’t be there, either way. She doesn’t think that she can stand to see the tears in Scorpia’s eyes when she herself needs to cage up her own behind her practiced, steel facade. Entrapta’s presence would just add insult to injury. She takes a deep breath, and flexes her claws.

No matter what happens at her judgement, she will not give anyone the pleasure of seeing her grovel. Oh yes- she’ll give them something much better to remember her by. The corner of her mouth quirks into a smile. This may just end up being fun.

* * *

Adora’s mind is all at once blank and full of so many thoughts that she can barely stand to process them. Shadow Weaver. Shadow Weaver is  _ here _ . 

Why is Shadow Weaver here? Why isn’t Shadow Weaver in the Fright Zone? What does Shadow Weaver want from  _ her _ ?

The only reason she would have come to Bright Moon is for Adora, right? In what capacity the sorceress wants her… Adora certainly has ideas, but no definitive answers seem to be forthcoming. All her brain can do is spiral and spiral and stress and be infuriatingly unhelpful.

It has probably only been minutes since Adora woke to Shadow Weaver leering over her from the foot of her bed, but it feels like a small eternity. Her timeline of recent events is jumbled at best. She had screamed for the guards, she knows that with certainty. Had she grabbed her sword? Probably. The guards had come in and dragged Shadow Weaver away. Oddly enough, the woman seemed unwilling, if not unable, to fight back. She had seemed resigned. That was far too weird to have been real. Adora must be imagining things.

Queen Angella had come to check in on Adora at some point, with a look of such obvious concern for her wellbeing that it made Adora ever so slightly uncomfortable (she still isn’t used to such concern, after all). Bow and Glimmer had followed, and apart from reassuring squeezes and a myriad of comforting hugs, Adora can’t remember much of what they said to her. That must have been when her brain went into its current state of utter overstimulation. They had left her, though, after saying something about giving her a moment to gather her thoughts. Yeah. That seems about right.

Somehow, this had all led Adora to where she is now, pacing lengthwise across her room. If she’s being honest, pacing is a loose term. Her speed is more along the lines of a jog. After all, exercise is one of the few things Adora can consistently count on to make sense. Training harder always brought her clarity. It was one of the few mindsets she retained from her Horde upbringing. Train harder, push further, and you’ll see the results you want. It was what had always allowed her to protect the things that mattered to her, like her friends at Bright Moon, like-

Adora’s mind suddenly arranges itself into a singular line of thought. The realization is as jarring as it is unwelcome.

Like Catra.

Oh. Oh no. If Shadow Weaver is here, she’s not in the Fright Zone, which means that Catra is, and Shadow Weaver is gone, and…

She suddenly doesn’t care half as much about Shadow Weaver’s reasons for leaving as much as she cares that she  _ left _ . She had left the Fright Zone, just like Adora had.

She had left Catra.

For Adora.

This was unfathomably bad.

Does Catra know yet? That Shadow Weaver is gone? Does she know where she had left for?  _ Who _ she had left for? She can’t help hoping that she doesn’t. Catra may be a confusing subject for Adora now, but once, she could have said with confidence that she knew that girl better than anything else in the world. Even if… even if she doesn’t know Catra half as well as she had thought... she knows that what Shadow Weaver had done was the highest form of betrayal to her. In fact, she knows it now more concretely than she had in her days with the Horde.

The reason being, of course, that Adora herself had left.

She had seen how well Catra had taken that.

This though, this was worse. 

Their whole childhood, Adora had been aware that Shadow Weaver had harbored a preference for her above the rest of her squad mates, and especially above Catra. Really, it seemed that as much pride she placed in Adora, she placed disdain in Catra. Still, Adora had thought that Catra had been more or less fine with the way things were- after all, it was true that for every derisive comment the sorceress had made towards her, she had a snarky response to shoot back. Titles like Force Captain had never appealed to her, just as she had never vested much interest into their training times or rankings.

This, Adora recently realized, had all been an act.

Catra had cared just as much about their training as Adora. Every time she had taken second place to Adora, every time she had failed to win Shadow Weaver’s praise, had wounded her. She was just better at hiding it than Adora was. That day they had met inside the First Ones temple, which had culminated in Catra letting Adora fall from a virtual cliff, had revealed to her just how much she had foolishly missed during their childhood. Namely, she had missed that all of Catra’s efforts had been doomed to fail from their start. Shadow Weaver would never give her the praise that came so easily to Adora, and Adora’s attempts at “protecting” her did nothing but solidify in Catra’s mind that Adora viewed her as weak and in need of protection. Worse yet, they never actually helped. It was laughable to think she could have protected Catra in any way that mattered when she herself was horrified to displease Shadow Weaver to begin with. She could never get Catra the recognition that she so, so clearly deserved. Catra had always been absolutely incredible to Adora, and she had always wondered why no one had ever seen what she had seen in her best friend. Now she knew, and it made her stomach turn to know that  _ she _ was one of the reasons Catra was permanently undervalued.

Now, Shadow Weaver had once again chosen Adora over Catra. She wondered what could have led to this. After all, since she had left the Fright Zone, she couldn’t exactly keep up with the latest Horde gossip. She clenches her fists. Whatever had happened, she can only hope that Catra is weathering it. She hopes that the girl she used to know better than the Horde regulation manual (which, of course, she once had memorized) is safe. She hopes beyond hope that, at least right now, she doesn’t know where Shadow Weaver is. That just might break her.

Really, though, who is Adora to say that Catra isn’t already broken? She herself had done a number on her recently.

That’s her duty, and it has been ever since she picked up the sword. She takes a deep breath. Catra may be… well, she’s Catra. Her Catra. But she is also a Horde operative, and it won’t do to forget that just because her mind is spiralling and Shadow Weaver was at the foot of her bed and nothing seems to make sense anymore and-

She repeats the words she turns to for clarity when all else fails. Heroes make sacrifices. Heroes are selfless. They are strong, and brave, and they put the needs of others above themselves. She puts her thoughts of Catra in the back of her mind. She needs to focus on Shadow Weaver right now.

Even if all of her thoughts of Shadow Weaver are tangled ever so closely with those of bright laughter, soft fur, Fright Zone sunsets, and a bunk bed that never seemed too small for two.

Shadow Weaver is here at Bright Moon. It must be because of Adora. Bow, Glimmer, and the entire Princess Alliance might be in danger.

She centers herself, and pushes open the doors to her bedroom. She and Shadow Weaver need to have a talk.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello LGBT community, it's me, ya girl, back at it with the character studies and all-hurt-no-comfort (yet)!! So, I decided I was, in fact, going to continue this into a multi-chapter fic! I mean, if I'm going to be writing it anyway, may as well publish it too :)) Sometimes you just gotta chug a lot of cold brew and mentally project yourself into the heads of fictional characters, amirite? I'm right. Well, if you are so inclined to give it, feedback of any kind is of course appreciated. Oh- and stay snazzy babes!


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